Addressing Risk

“When you dig a well, you might fall in. When you demolish an old wall, you could be bitten by a snake. When you work in a quarry stones might fall and crush you. When you chop wood, there is a danger with each stroke of your axe.” (Ecclesiastes 10:8-9 NLT)

I’ve been wrestling with risk for months now. My husband teases me that I could sell insurance because I often consider statistics in my daily activities. A worldwide pandemic of the novel (new) coronavirus has only escalated my internal risk evaluation.

As the virus first infiltrated our country, I noted that people responded to the news according to their risk tolerance. High tolerance folks barely altered their coming and going while low tolerance folks locked themselves up at home and had essentials delivered to their door to supplement the emergency stockpile they already in place. I know from a neat little assessment survey with my financial advisor that I trend to the low side of middle of risk tolerance, but the reality of my last few years has me feeling increasingly less comfortable with risk.

As we begin to phase-open our country, the discussion has become volatile about personal freedoms: essential birthrights of our fair nation. We are inching toward something more reminiscent of normal, but some of us are still paying attention to risk. The virus isn’t gone and it’s still quite novel. I read a BBC article yesterday that cited the completely individual nature of each and every severe case: it’s far more than severe pneumonia. It’s a systemic-wide disease that attacks multiple organs by thickening the blood. The virus does not grab hold of every victim in this manner, but some are incredibly ill almost overnight. The doctors treating this virus have said they have no playbook for the disease, they are left to work it out like long-hand arithmetic; case by case, day by day. It sounds tedious and exhausting, not to mention the culpability these caregivers wear as they tend to the sick and dying.

I’ve seen on facebook, both friends railing against pastors holding service and other friends railing against them for not resuming service. Additionally, I’ve read the latest Barna statistics, citing the plummeting numbers for online church attendance. I’ve witnessed our own ministry’s youtube and facebook metrics and I know that online church simply doesn’t bear the same weight as in-person attendance: physically, emotionally our spiritually.

The NPR report was the one that really got under my skin. It was a risk assessment of various ordinary summer activities: from tennis to public pools, grocery shopping, barhopping and church-going. The thing that really perturbed me was the two highest-risk activities listed in the article are nightclubs and church services. I suppose nightclubs are obvious: it would be challenging to maintain social distance while inebriated and dancing. Church gained it’s ‘high-risk’ label through worship: singing sends moisture droplets into the air for other attendants to breathe. The solution? Go ahead and gather, but don’t sing.

Pastors are in a pickle, aren’t we? We want to protect our people. We are shepherds by vocation. Yet, we are also responsible to lead them to greener pastures. They need to be fed and some of them are still learning to find food themselves. So how do we navigate all this risk?

I’ve been praying about this for days, honestly a bit grateful not to be the lead in our congregation. In this season, I am only responsible to my twenty teenage souls and that is plenty of weight to carry. As we raised our voices in song service yesterday, my heart swelled with realization and hope. We can’t stop singing: it is essential even in pandemic because it’s honestly easier than prayer. When our hearts are horribly burdened and we can’t hard link two words together to express our troubles, we can still sing.

The truth is, as Ecclesiastes expresses it, all real work involves risk. Virus or no virus. Sure, we risk exposure by going into the grocery store but we also risk motor vehicle accident driving to get there. And yes, the virus is novel and the care procedures are unclear, but souls left to themselves for long months may suffer eternally.

When I think of Apostle Paul and all he endured for the sake of the gospel (2 Corinthians 11:23-28) I am ashamed of my thin faith skin. What is a little risk in light of eternity? We cannot rob God of the glory due Him. For whatever reason, worshiping at a screen is simply not the same.

So we acknowledge the risk. We wear our masks and we socially distance and we pray our prayers but we worship. We lift our voices and consequently our hearts. We declare God as He rightly is, Lord over the earth and everything in it.

“Will a mere metal rob God? Yet you rob Me.” (Malachi 3:8 NIV)

(this scripture was written about tithes and offerings, but isn’t our praise also an act of sacrifice, especially in this season?)

“Make thankfulness your sacrifice to God and keep the vows you made to the Most High. Then call on Me when you are in trouble, and I will rescue you, and you will give Me glory.” (Psalm 50″14-15 NIV)

After giving it considerable thought; I think I agree with the NPR article. Church is just as risky for our soul as a nightclub. Both venues can alter our eternity.

“Dear friends, let us never rob God of His praise, however dark the day is.” (Charles Spurgeon)

Lord, forgive us for our fear as we stare CoVid-19 in the face. Give us courage to gather, with appropriate parts caution and confidence. Help us make the sacrifice of praise. We want to honor You amidst every situation. Please continue to watch over Your people. Amen.